Gilda Williams

  • Ian Kiaer

    The first gallery in Bloomberg Space, little more than a lobby, is a singularly unsuitable place for the display of art. With its shiny black floor and track lighting, it is coolly corporate in feel. Its irregular, small area is overwhelmed by a double-height ceiling and a corner of floor-to-ceiling glass. A footpath cuts diagonally through the tiny space, with its one oddly oblique wall, making it uncomfortable to stop and actually look at the artworks forced into its corners.

    Into this unwelcoming place, Ian Kiaer has heroically installed his understated art. A painter by training and disposition,

  • Clunie Reid

    The images Clunie Reid uses—culled from tabloids, the Internet, snapshots, and low-grade celebrity magazines—are rephotographed and printed on sheets of shiny silver paper that are then applied to aluminum panels and partially edged with duct tape. Inserted seamlessly within the pictures are digital-type texts or graphics; upon them have been occasionally applied cheap, colorful stickers of the variety favored in the late elementary school years. Imperatives such as COME BACK! or IT’S TIME FOR BED CASSIOPEIA! may be scrawled in black or red marker, in the round and rapidly executed penmanship

  • The Otolith Group

    In the preface to Frankenstein, Mary Shelley explained that she wrote fiction not because she enjoyed “weaving stories of supernatural terrors” but because of its capacity “for delineating human passions more comprehensive and commanding [than] the ordinary relations of existing events.” Almost two centuries later, the films of the Otolith Group (Kodwo Eshun and Anjalika Sagar) also adopt fiction—specifically science fiction, the genre Shelley helped invent—in order to explore impossible or failed histories and the compelling messages coded therein. In A Long Time Between Suns (Part 2), 2009,

  • The Subversion of Images

    In the forthcoming exhibition of nearly four hundred works made between 1920 and 1940, expect lesser-known found images, independent magazines, films, and games by some seventy-five artists.

    This survey of Surrealist photography—the Pompidou’s first since Rosalind Krauss and Jean Livingston’s 1985 “L’amour fou/Explosante-fixe”—might as well have “In the Expanded Field” as its subtitle. In the forthcoming exhibition of nearly four hundred works made between 1920 and 1940, expect lesser-known found images, independent magazines, films, and games by some seventy-five artists, from Jacques-André Boiffard to detective novelist Léo Malet—as well as rarely exhibited photos by André Breton and Antonin Artaud—all flanked by the iconic prints of

  • Elizabeth Price

    WELCOME appears projected in large, bright yellow Barbara Krugeresque lettering on the opening screen of Elizabeth Price’s film series “New, Ruined Institute.” The first two parts of this unfinished trilogy, WELCOME (The Atrium), 2008, and USER GROUP DISCO (The Hall of Sculptures), 2009, were on view here. The imposing invitation contrasted with the disorienting pitch-black space, filled with an intense musical score by Jem Noble that employs samples ranging from John Carpenter to Joy Division. After five minutes, the first screen goes silent and the source of the music suddenly emerges from

  • “Voodoo”

    True story: I took a disaffected, directionless high school senior to the opening of “Voodoo,” and, wildly enthused by this show, she applied to art school the next day. That’s how inspirational this gem of a group exhibition was. “Voodoo: Hoochie Coochie and the Creative Spirit” roughly coincided with Nicolas Bourriaud’s grand Tate Triennial, a twenty-first-century mission statement on the future of curating filled with large-scale, theoretically au courant works. In contrast, “Voodoo”—crammed floor to ceiling with some fifty-five works dating from the nineteenth century to the present—represents

  • Lindsay Seers

    The third and final film in Lindsay Seers’s elaborate installation, “It has to be this way,” 2009, shows art critic Michael Newman intelligently critiquing the work itself, discussing the connection between memory and technology and thus memory’s inherently prosthetic quality. It’s very good stuff; so what’s left for a reviewer to do? Viewers of the three DVD works that made up the exhibition could only conclude that Seers is so savvy about her art’s theoretical underpinnings that she virtually hands us every critical or historical comment to be made about it; it feels intellectually self-conscious

  • Claire Hooper

    Claire Hooper’s Nach Spandau (To Spandau), 2008, is a video to watch alone. It follows the nearly empty U7 subway line in Berlin, station after station, in a fifty-three-minute series of short sequences on HDV. Each shot sooner or later lingers for a few seconds on some brief, motionless image, usually concentrating on the architectural details of each station; the overall result is an alternating pattern of wall-size moving images followed by often beautiful moments of stillness. Nach Spandau becomes a claustrophobic road movie that provokes a hypnotic curiosity about each next frame in its

  • Duncan Campbell

    Bernadette, 2008, is the story of Bernadette Devlin, the Irish political activist who, in 1969, became the youngest-ever female member of Parliament at the age of twenty-one; she was to remain an outspoken leader of the impoverished Catholic working classes. Beyond mere biography, however, Duncan Campbell’s 16-mm film (transferred to video) is also a story about storytelling itself—about the gaps, the choices, the subjective rehearsing of history, and all the moments left unrecorded and forgotten. Campbell uses primarily archival footage—usually exhilarating moments of Devlin’s spectacular

  • Tim Shaw

    Far off almost anyone’s London contemporary art map is Kensington, the posh residential neighborhood where the only galleries are the sort that might be expected to exhibit small bronze figurines—like this foundation, sited in the former studio of the prominent postwar sculptor Kenneth Armitage. And small bronze figurines, by the little-known midcareer sculptor Tim Shaw, do occupy the top floor, which made the installation hidden at the back all the more astonishing.

    Shaw has spent part of his two-and-a-half-year residency here building Casting a Dark Democracy, 2007–2008, a gargantuan, more than

  • the Whitechapel Gallery’s expansion

    WELL INTO THE 1980s, visitors to the East End of London would have been hard-pressed to imagine that this predominantly working-class area—hardly a magnet for cultural tourism in Thatcher’s Britain—would become a hub for contemporary art. If a few brave gallerists were already in the East End—such as Robin Klassnik of Matt’s Gallery, which opened in 1979, and Maureen Paley, who opened her first space in 1984—the indefatigable Whitechapel Gallery was the institution that made the district an unmissable if offbeat destination for cognoscenti in search of quality exhibitions of exciting new art.

  • Liverpool Biennial

    The Liverpool Biennial, now in its fifth edition, may never surpass Tatsurou Bashi’s masterstroke, Villa Victoria, from the second edition in 2002. The artist had constructed a temporary hotel room around an imposing piece of nineteenth-century civic statuary dominating one of Liverpool’s busiest squares. Guests spent a night in a make-shift bedroom dominated by a colossal bronze Queen Victoria while urban traffic swirled ceaselessly round just outside the room’s thin walls, a dislocated island of intimacy and stillness amid a space of maximum exposure.

    If Villa Victoria was all about displacement—the

  • Roger Hiorns

    Having previously coated small models of gothic cathedrals, car engines, and other objects in bright blue copper sulphate crystals, sculptor Roger Hiorns took this technique to virtuosic heights with Seizure, 2008, encrusting an entire apartment wall-to-ceiling in sparkling azure crystals. This startling superimposition of nature onto culture was achieved by first sealing watertight an empty three-room apartment in a 1960s public-housing block condemned for demolition. A hole drilled into the ceiling from the apartment above allowed the artist to pour more than eighteen thousand gallons of the

  • John Samson

    You can watch excerpts from all three films by the late John Samson on view here on YouTube—Tattoo, 1975, Dressing for Pleasure, 1977, and Arrows, 1979—and see for yourself how spectacularly dreary Britain was in the 1970s. Samson made these documentary-style films around the time Dick Hebdige was researching his seminal Subculture: The Meaning of Style (1979), and you understand why both observers found these thriving subcultural scenes—gangs, fetishists, punks, teddy boys—so worthy of attention. The rest of this bunch of islanders, poorly dressed and eager to vote Margaret Thatcher into office

  • Peter Coffin and Djordje Ozbolt

    Our expectation upon entering a dark, black-curtained gallery is that we will be watching some “new media” projection. But no: In this collaborative work by installation artist Peter Coffin and painter Djordje Ozbolt, Untitled (Djordje Ozbolt) (all works 2008), five small paintings hang on a wall in a darkened room. One by one, in sequence, each picture is brightly lit for a minute or so—the first a bit longer than the rest. The lighting on each picture varies. Four spotlights dance over a work subtitled Health and Safety, in which a monkey cavorts in some depthless gymnasium or construction

  • “Front of House”

    “Front of House” is a collaborative exhibition conceived as a four-way conversation between artists Ângela Ferreira and Narelle Jubelin, architect Marcos Corrales, and curator Andrew Renton. And a very polite conversation it seems to be at first, taking place in a sort of Miesian parlor furnished with beautifully crafted shelves arranged and designed by Corrales, an Andre-like Equivalent sculpture made up of Renton’s long-lost catalogues to his 1993 exhibition “Walter Benjamin’s Briefcase” (itself famously lost in transit), and some elegantly built wooden sculptures. Artworks such as Ferreira


    MUCH OF LONDON-BASED SCULPTOR Daniel Silver’s work occupies an in-between state—between complete and incomplete, between handmade and mass-produced, between artistic object and castoff. For an exhibition at Ibid Projects in London this past winter, for example, Silver acquired several discarded marble copies of Roman and Greek statuary, recently carved in Carrara, Italy, that had been tossed aside by local artisans because the sculptures were cracked, chipped, or rendered crooked during their making. Whereas the Italian craftspeople had deemed the work too crummy to bother finishing, Silver

  • Jimmy De Sana

    Taken when the American photographer Jimmy De Sana (1950–1990) was between the ages of just twenty and twenty-two, the small, black-and-white images in 101 Nudes, 1972, seem to document simultaneously this talented artist’s fumbling discoveries in both sex and photography. The subjects’ often embarrassing suburban posturing—a fleshy young woman walking gracelessly in the backyard; a skinny boy posing stupidly on a dining-room table, performing some sort of arabesque—captures the awkward, mischievous curiosity of early encounters with sex or art, the moments when our parents mercifully left us

  • Ryan Gander

    For the artist's first Swiss solo outing, the kunsthalle will present some fifteen sculptures, videos, and installations from the past two years.

    Who says Conceptual art is dead? On the heels of Ryan Gander's one-man show which traveled from Birmingham's Ikon Gallery to the South London Gallery earlier this year, a second major exhibition opens this June. Frequently examining doubt and boredom in studio life, Gander's quiet practice also mines history and memory, and his reworkings of found items—from crossword puzzles and city maps to children's books and PlayStation games—often contradict the spirit of the original: Milestone, 2006, for example, is a Roman-looking marker built from concrete that had fallen

  • Anthony McCall

    In the 1970s, when Anthony McCall’s Solid Light sculptures were first projected in galleries and loft spaces, cigarette smoke and dust particles filled the air promiscuously, allowing his room-size sculptural projections to function. Before the days of smoking bans and filter systems, works such as Line Describing a Cone, 1973—a projected white dot in a completely darkened space that slowly grows, over thirty minutes, into a circular line on the facing wall, eventually filling the blackness with a conical “volume” in space—did not depend on a hazer of the kind that is nowadays used to produce